I Almost Didn't
by abovethenightsky
Summary: Oneshot.  Sirius Black comes to terms with his sexual orientation and feelings for a friend.  RLSB.  'You said yes. You meant no. And, in the mixture of confusion and urges and conflicting voices in my head, that I understood.'


**i.**

_I almost didn't ever get to know you._

I remember meeting you in first year. You had missed the train because your mother wanted you to stay at home and rest for a few more hours. She was always a little overprotective of you, and we never knew why. Later we would figure out that the first day of school was also the day after the full moon, and it would make sense to us. All we noticed then was the shy-looking kid escorted in by Filch during the Sorting Hat's song, dragging a trunk. The Hat paused for just a second, and when we turned out heads to look at you, see what the interruption was about, you shuffled your feet and stared at the floor.

You sat next to me at the feast, too, I remember that. Lily wanted to put as much distance between her and me as possible after that unfortunate train ride, so when you were sorted into our house she slid down the bench to make room for you. When you sat down, I didn't even pay that much attention. I was too busy watching to see if James would end up with me in Gryffindor, so we could be a Dynamic Duo and go around having adventures and be boy-oh-boy the best of friends. I was trying to wave to him. I nearly took your nose off. If I had been looking, I would have seen the scars on your face, or the book you were trying to read under the table despite the noise in the Great Hall. But I didn't look. I didn't give you any thought at all. I thought our paths weren't going to cross.

And it was nearly a month later before I talked to you. But it wasn't as if I didn't see you around. You were that quiet kid who raised his hand in the back of the classroom and always had his nose in a dusty old tome. You weren't interesting at all, not to us two amateur mischief-makers. But that one afternoon, James and I were walking the hallways when we noticed some kid with his nose in a book being bugged by a couple of goons from Slytherin, and we had to intervene, of course, it's what we did. And you were very pale and very sickly and didn't meet our eyes as you apologized for being a nuisance and murmured your thanks for us going out of our ways. And I remember feeling this strange urge to help you, more than I already had, that was, and I put my hand on your shoulder and said, "Hey, we're Gryffindors, we're in this together, alright? I'm Sirius Black, this is James Potter. Just tell us if you need anything."

You looked up at me and you had this very small, innocent smile. "Remus Lupin," you said. And from then on, you were one of us.

**ii.**

_I almost didn't get to let you know that we were okay with you._

By second year our little gang had expanded to include our favorite tagalong, Peter Pettigrew. And, a year older, wiser, and more experienced, James and I noted that your absences to visit your dear sick mother occurred with surprising regularity. So regular that, in fact, they happened every month around the time of the full moon, when _you_, dear friend, were at your most pale and peaky. We hadn't yet covered werewolves in Defense Against the Dark Arts, though, so we needed to do some research on our own. I remember you looking absolutely shocked when James and I asked you to point us to the section of the library devoted to books about magical creatures. We'd never set foot in the dusty old place before.

Surely enough, your symptoms lined up. Even Peter could see it, and he was the thickest of us all. And we wanted to let you know that we were alright with that, but you seemed to know what we were going to touch on the unpleasant subject each time we approached you, and you'd bolt. It came to the point where you hadn't spoken to us for a week, which was ridiculous. You were afraid we would disown you as a friend. You should have known us better. It seemed that we were going to lose you.

One midwinter evening, I had forgotten my cloak. You always said I had no common sense, and I hated to admit that you were probably right, but having a snowball fight with James and Peter outside with no protection from below freezing weather seemed a bit of a stretch, even for me. But when I got up to the dorm, you were there, sitting on your bed, absorbed in one of your books. When you saw me come in, you got up to leave, but I stood in the doorway and blocked the exit.

"Hey," I said. "Stay put for a second, okay?"

You didn't meet my eyes.

"We're okay with it," I told you. "James, Peter, me, it doesn't bother us."

I didn't say what but you knew anyway. You then looked me straight in the eyes, a mixture of disbelief and defiance. Having friends had given you a voice. "You're alright with the fact that I'm a…I'm a werewolf?"

It didn't seem like you'd said it out loud before. Admitting it would make it true.

"Yeah," I said. "Sure. We all have our problems. James snores like a freight train. So, you coming outside, or what?"

And I forgot my cloak that night, but it didn't matter because I slung my arm around your shoulder and you were alright again and I forgot how cold I was. And James threw that one snowball that caught you in the back of the head, but when you fell you were laughing. You had friends. You had us. And you could endure a few snowballs for that.

**iii.**

_I almost didn't tell you that something wasn't right._

At the beginning of third year, I had my first girlfriend. I actually had my first three girlfriends, but only the first one really mattered. She was the most important, a stepping stone, a Ravenclaw girl a year above me who thought I was cute. I was no longer a boy, not in my eyes, and not in the eyes of those around me. James was insatiably curious, always asking me questions about what it was like and what _kissing_ her was like, Peter was still a bit too young, not in age, but in mind. You would always be frighteningly apathetic. And yet I would still regale all of you with the tales of what we did when we disappeared together for some private time, or on our dates in Hogsmeade. In truth, the only things that ensued were much hand-holding and three shy and awkward kisses, but I wasn't going to let the three of you know that.

However, there was some other problem, one issue that nagged at the back of my mind, that didn't strike me as quite right. I couldn't tell James, because I enjoyed being able to hold my girlfriend over his head, and I couldn't tell Peter, because he wouldn't understand. I didn't really want to tell you, I didn't want to tell anyone, really, but it seemed like I couldn't help myself.

One night I was coming back from one of our little dates, the one where she and I had kissed – or rather, tried to kiss – for the first time. And you were sitting on your usual couch in the Gryffindor common room, by the fire, reading, as always. I sat down next to you and you barely acknowledged me, just raised your head a little. I was focusing on some point on the wall opposite, trying to process what had just happened.

"Remus," I said, not really to you. "I _kissed_ her."

If you were James, you would have leaned forward and asked me what it was like, all eager eyes and open ears. If you were Peter, you would have pretended to retch. But you were you, so you just said, "Congratulations," in that little semi-sarcastic tone of voice and kept reading.

"I…" I wasn't exactly sure what I wanted to say. "I didn't _like_ it, Remus. I don't even think I like _her_."

You looked at me, then, with mild surprise. I suddenly wasn't sure I wanted to pursue this line of conversation anymore. I suddenly wasn't sure I had a choice. Because if anyone would know about sexual apathy, it would be you.

"Is that _normal_?" I blurted out.

Awkward silence. Then, very, very slowly, you nodded, almost smiling knowingly. "I think so."

"Okay." I stood up. "Thanks. I—thanks." And, without being sure if I'd learned anything at all, I climbed the stairs and called it a night.

I broke up with her two weeks later. I both desperately wanted to and desperately didn't. Peter and James couldn't understand why I would break up with a girl, especially one who was pretty and older than me. But you just nodded. And I thought that maybe, at least in that one aspect, you understood me better than James.

**iv.**

_I almost didn't keep an important secret._

James and I came up with The Idea in the middle of fourth year. We wanted to make you feel like you were really a part of us, every single day of the month. We wanted to go where no humans could have gone before, so to speak. And that was the Shrieking Shack, the werewolf's lair. And we thought we knew how to do it. We explained it to Peter, and, after some convincing (it wasn't exactly a safe endeavor, after all) he agreed.

So we ended up spending hours in the library, researching Animagi. You would have found this very suspicious indeed, except you didn't know what we were up to. We made sure to only go when you wouldn't be there. If you ever asked what we were doing, the three of us would feed you some sort of half-baked excuse and then disappear. I felt terrible about sneaking around you, but once you found out what we were doing, and that we were doing it for you, you would understand. I was sure. I was positive.

Except that one day when you came up to me, and you looked incredibly upset. And you told me that if we didn't want you as a friend anymore, we should just outright _say_ so, instead of sneaking around and telling you lies. You were practically crying. And for some reason, your almost tears, the ones that stubbornly refused to fall, affected me much more than they should have. I had the strangest urge. I wanted to _hold_ you. I wanted to tell you everything we were doing and that it would be alright.

Instead I just said, "We're doing it _for_ you," and let you mull that over for awhile. At least it was an assurance that we weren't all working against you.

**v.**

_I almost didn't realize that something had changed._

We finally attempted to act on The Idea at the beginning of fifth year. We still hadn't let you know what we were up to, although you had nearly guessed a couple of times. The day we actually made the transformation, we locked you out of our dorm for about three hours to work the magic. When we finally let you in, James still had a pair of antlers and Peter sported a tail. I shrugged apologetically, hiding my paws behind my back. We'd tried, hadn't we?

The second time was the charm, and you weren't alone the next full moon. And thus the Marauders were born. Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs joined Moony on moonlit escapades. You seemed happier. You didn't lose all of yourself, not when we were around to help you remember.

And fifth year was also the year I slept with a girl. I was sixteen. I'd kept on having girlfriends even after I told you I didn't like the first one. I figured that it might have just been a problem between me and her and that the next one would be different. And the next one. And the next one. And gradually I became more and more involved with them, to forget that I didn't like them as much as I should. I was a teenage boy. Girls wanted to be with me. Sex was practically inevitable.

Telling James and Peter and you about this was sort of similar to telling you all about my first girlfriend. I lied a little. I didn't tell them that it wasn't nearly as fun as it should have been, not for me, at least. It should have meant more. I should have _enjoyed_ it more. But instead of telling the truth, I joked about it. I made it mysterious. I had James and Peter's complete attentions, I could almost see their imaginations churning with every word. You were freakishly intent on your book and didn't seem to hear a thing I said.

I couldn't sleep that night. Neither could you.

I was staring at the ceiling when someone pulled the covers back and climbed in next to me. I didn't need to look to know who it was, I knew that the sound of your feet on stone differed from that of Peter and James. Sharpened perception came from being a dog.

You didn't say a word, you just curled up against me, clutching my shirt in your palms, head buried in my hair. You weren't crying, but you were trembling, sweating. I didn't know why, I wanted to ask, but I knew you needed me not to. I just held you as you broke. And it seemed to me that this simple, desperate contact was somehow more intimate and meaningful than sex. I had a brief, fleeting thought – what it would be like to kiss you, and that it would it be better than kissing a girl – before dismissing it. That was _not_ the way I should be thinking. That wasn't, well, normal.

I felt the trembling stop after awhile. I looked down and realized that it was because you had fallen asleep. And you just looked so peaceful there, with your head settled now on my pillow, that I let you alone. Actually, I did one last thing. Before falling asleep beside you, I kissed you softly on the forehead. I told myself it was brotherly, that I was, as always, acting on my instincts of being the older one, your protector. I was lying.

When I woke up the next morning you were sitting on your own bed, which obviously hadn't been slept in, with your head in your hands. I propped my head up on my hand and asked, finally, "Moony? You alright?"

You said yes. You meant no. And, in the mixture of confusion and urges and conflicting voices in my head, that I understood.

**vi.**

_I almost didn't stop myself from kissing you_.

Sixth year was the best year for me. I finally had enough sense to move out of my parents' house in Grimmauld Place and go live with James. I bought the motorbike. And that was even before I went back to Hogwarts.

We ruled the school sixth year. I know we thought that every single year, arrogant little berks that we were, but this year it was true. James and my Grand Idea this year was a map. A map that would tell us where anyone was, anywhere in Hogwarts, and would include all of the secret passageways, plus instructions on how to access them. With a lot of research help from you, and a little bit of investigation with Peter and James, the Marauder's Map was born. This, now, was the ultimate tool in mischief making. We were unstoppable. Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs would be legends. We saw to that.

There were only a couple more girls this year. I had learned not to play with fire. I wasn't sure my first time had related directly to what had happened afterwards, and I wasn't sure I wanted to find out. In some way, I didn't trust myself to get that close to you again. Whenever I had something to say, relationship-wise, that was, I told James and Peter when you weren't around. But it was only a matter of time before girls didn't interest me and I stopped pretending, explaining to James and Peter that all of the pretty ones I'd either already dated or avoided because they were Lily Evans.

You weren't the breaking down type this year. You had developed a defense: sarcasm. It was an old friend of yours, anyway, but I'd never encountered it so many times from you before. We ended up having many witty repartees, you sometimes heckling me about my grammar, I bugging you about your lack of a life or devotion to the rules. I never really told you how much I liked arguing with you. I was afraid it might make you stop.

The last day of the year, we were packing, just you and me in the room we shared with the other Gryffindor boys. My trunk was on my bed, open, its haphazardly loaded contents on display for the world to see. I tossed in my last single sock and closed it. "Done."

You looked up, apparently startled out of thought. Your trunk had been packed an hour ago. Closing your book, you came to stand on the other side of my bed. "Do you ever think about the future?"

"I'm sorry, what?"

"The future, Padfoot."

"Well…" Random. I considered this for a moment. "I guess I'd like to do something glamorous after school. Espionage, that type of thing. James is thinking of becoming an Auror, it doesn't sound like a bad idea." I regarded you from across the trunk. "What about you, Moony?"

"Something intellectual," you said.

"Figures."

"But I think…the first year, after we get out, that is, I want to travel around, finding other…people like me. I want to know I'm not alone."

I bit back the words "_you're not alone_" and said instead, "It still seems like there's a lot more about you that I need to know."

You smiled. "Sometimes I feel that way about you."

I tried to smile back but I was reacting oddly to your gaze so I instead busied myself with taking my trunk down from the bed. I put out my hand to grab the handle on the top. Your hand was already there.

Contact surprised me. I looked at you. I did more than look at you. I leaned towards you, you did the same. Everything seemed to happen in slow motion. I reached with my other hand to brush your cheek. We were so close our foreheads could touch.

And then I came back into myself. And I realized what I was doing. And it _wasn't natural_. I withdrew my hand and fled, all the way to the bathrooms. Turning the tap with such force that I nearly broke it off, I splashed my face in the cold water. This wasn't me. I was the most handsome guy at Hogwarts. Girls threw themselves at me. I didn't need to be thinking about you like…_Wake up_. _Wake up _now.

I heard your footsteps and didn't lift my head to look. "You okay?" you asked.

I said yes. I meant no. My hands shook as they gripped the sides of the basin.

"Me neither," you said, and you turned and left.

**vii.**

_I almost didn't admit it to myself._

Whereas sixth year had been a breeze, seventh year was the hardest yet.

That summer, James knew that something was bugging me but didn't press the matter. He figured I'd tell him eventually, but I didn't. I couldn't. When we got back to school, it was clear that my problem was with you. Everyone assumed that we'd had a fight. In a way, we had. In a way, we hadn't. It should have been that simple.

After a couple of months, somehow, without words, we mutually agreed to forget about what happened. James and Peter came across us laughing about something sarcastic you had said that wasn't really funny at all. But we were in hysterics. Tears were pouring down our cheeks. What the other two didn't realize was that they were tears of relief. We'd found each other again. We'd each gotten our friend back.

Christmas was a blur. Valentine's Day was too, except when you got a Valentine, your first, and I felt this burning sensation in the pit of my stomach. Only later was I able to diagnose it, not as eating too much chocolate, but as jealousy. I had a pile of cards, but you didn't look at _me_ sideways. And here I was, jealous. I could no longer pretend I didn't have a problem. I could no longer pretend that problem wasn't you.

But I was able to live with myself. There were no girls this year, but I was able to accept that as well. My reputation could hold up. I knew I could, too. I held rather well through cramming and NEWTs and my eighteenth birthday. I thought I would hold until the end of the year, when I wouldn't have to see you everyday. Conflict avoided.

About a week before we would be out of school for good, it was an insanely gorgeous day out, but I feel like frolicking outside. Peter was off somewhere, I didn't know where, and James had been spending every spare minute with Lily. I could see you from my window. You were reading, sitting under a tree by the lake, which shone in the harsh, bright sunlight. Every minute or so you would turn the page. You were always a fast reader. Your hair also glowed in the light. _You_ seemed to glow in the light. I saw you lean your head back against the tree and look in the direction of the tower. At me. _For_ me. I couldn't help myself. I shivered.

_Fuck_, I thought. _The way around a problem isn't avoiding it_. _And this is the way I am_.

I didn't know my legs could carry me so quickly, down the stairs, out the portrait hole, down the corridors, three more flights of stairs, and out across the grounds. It took no time at all to get to the place where you were reading underneath that tree. I don't even know if you saw me there until I yanked the book out of your hands.

"Sirius? Wha—"

I tossed your book away and usurped its place in your lap, leaning over you. I took your face in my hands. "Cheeky bastard," I said. "You made me fall in love with you."

"Took you long enough," you replied.

I kissed you. It was what we both needed. Because some things words alone couldn't say.

**viii.**

_I almost didn't realize I was in love_.

_But the fact that I did, well, that's really all that matters._


End file.
